


The Inner Musings of a High Functioning Sociopath

by DeathsLights



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor, People should be paid to put up with Sherlock, Poor Anderson...not really, Sherlock is harsh with words, Sherlock-centric, Wow John would be rich then
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathsLights/pseuds/DeathsLights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come on John, staying in the same room as Anderson has shown a decrease in IQ as well as lower functioning of the brain, and we would not want that! It really is no wonder everyone in the department is getting dimmer and slower. Whatever Anderson has is contagious, come now before you contract it as well. You need however much of it you currently have or you'll be just like them!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inner Musings of a High Functioning Sociopath

**Author's Note:**

> Well I had this idea for years and finally wrote it down because Dances-like-flames liked the idea and I wrote it, she betaed this fic so thank her because I'm lazy and probably wouldn't have actually turned this into words and stuff.
> 
> One day I might do a longer Sherlock fic a Johnlock but don't count me on it, Sterek owns my soul and it won't be letting go anytime soon.

**The Inner Musings of a High Functioning Sociopath**

It always managed to astonish him what the feeble minds of the masses chose to dwell on, what the majority of the human race chose to fill their less functioning mental organs with. Useless, irrelevant things; dates that served no purpose such as birthdays, first dates and anniversaries. Memories of the mindless dimwitted things the first time something had happened, of time with their families which still baffled him since his greatest enemy was still his fat oaf of a brother. His nose wrinkled in distaste. He loathed any connection to Mycroft, even a genetic one, so closeness was not wanted and most definitely not welcomed. He awaited the day science advanced enough to change ones genetic code, not his, Mycroft's. Why would he dare to anything to himself? He was one of the few in this dull world that had an ounce of intelligence. To deprive the world of that was a crime, though getting rid of Mycroft was not. That would be a gift and the world would be better off and grateful.

But going back to the main topic; the less than brilliant masses of the world. He could not and still did not comprehend why the majority of humanity chose to fill their thought processing center with such futile, unimportant garbage that clogged up valuable brain storages. Why was it important to remember what time a show came on? Or even the birthday of a friend? Why even have friends? They were noisy, demanding and most of all time consuming. Why have them at all? What is the need for human companionship? Well, he could not blame them, he did find John to be more lively and entertaining than talking to a skull, but only by a small fraction, and he only enjoyed Watson's company because he was less of an idiot, not by much, but enough to make him more valuable than most. John should consider himself blessed or least flattered, even if he did have the habit of leaving him at crime scenes or abandoning him on the occasion, that he even spent his time with John.  

The majority of the human population chose to give importance to things that served no purpose and he was above that. He was able to recognize when things that held no value and should be deleted and erased. Obviously he was a higher functioning human being, or a high functioning sociopath. So of course it makes perfect comprehendible sense that he did not know anything about the solar system, not about the planets or whatever else is associated with such things, because he was a consulting detective, the only one in the world, in fact. His expertises would never be required in space and if there was ever a murder in space than that was the incompetence of NASA and all other space organizations. If they could not spot a mentally unstable person or someone with violent tendencies, then it was bluntly clear they were not good at what they did. Honestly, the utter stupidity and blindness of people absolutely disgusted him enough to retch. He turned his attention back to the crime scene and rolled his eyes; what was the buffoon going on about now?

"It is obvious that wife that did him in! I'm sure of it!" Anderson boasted.

Sherlock let out a snort. "Oh for once shut up, Anderson. Do you enjoy robbing the environment of intelligence? Leave the air for those who actually make a difference and use it usefully, stop tainting the surroundings with your stupidity."

Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose, he brought this on himself.  "Then who did it, Sherlock?"

"Boss!"

"Anderson, be quiet for a second." The detective inspector turned his attention back to Sherlock. "So?"

"I figured out this case as soon as I walked in. It's the maid. He was having an affair with her, jealous rage and all that, really now such, the weapon is either in her pocket or in her room in a cupboard.  Such a clichéd case and you called me? You bore me. Next time find something more stimulating and fun. Do not waste my time again."

Greg stared blankly. "So why did you not tell me this before?"

"Because John said it was impolite to do things like that." Sherlock turned to look at John, who stood covering his face near the wall. "Is five minutes enough? Really now, John, I wish you’d stop trying to instil mannerisms into me. I have manners, I just choose not to use them and as you can see, it means nothing as it wastes time and it gives Anderson a chance to spew forth his idiotic theories."

Anderson's face turned crimson, his neck straining. "You bloody grit, how dare y–"

"Oh, shut up, Anderson. Make yourself useful and walk into traffic or swallow arsenic. Maybe you'll actually be useful to science as a cadaver that I can study." Sherlock paused. "On second thought no, I don't want to taint myself. I'll donate your body to a museum to show everyone the devolution of man, the step down from current evolution."

Lestrade covered his face; was he paid for this? He should be paid for this. People should be paid for putting up with Sherlock. Now he'd have an insufferable Anderson to deal with. Was this Sherlock's way of getting back at him for this case? Bloody evil genius.

Sherlock whirled, his coat flapping with him as he left. "Come on John, staying in the same room as Anderson has shown a decrease in IQ as well as lower functioning of the brain, and we would not want that! It really is no wonder everyone in the department is getting dimmer and slower. Whatever Anderson has is contagious, come now before you contract it as well. You need however much of it you currently have or you'll be just like them!"

John offered everyone a small and polite smile before he left. He caught up with Sherlock and frowned. "Sherlock, that wasn't–"

"Yes, yes I know. Not good." He glanced down at John and smirked. "But you must admit watching Anderson change color is always good, is it not?

"...." John let out a snort and covered his mouth. "Ssh, we’re still at a crime scene, we can't laugh at them, we've been over this! It's inappropriate!"

"Oh, like that would stop us." John and Sherlock both let out chuckles. A few of officers gave them odd looks as they quickly walked down the street.

"You are utterly mad, Sherlock." John shook his head fondly. "Utterly mad."

"But I am also utterly brilliant," Sherlock said as he grinned. "Dinner?"

"Sure, will you be eating this time?"

"Yes, I might as well fill myself today since Anderson already made this day useless. It's as if he sucks all the intelligence with his mindless droning. Angelo's?" John nodded and walked beside Sherlock down the street. Sherlock, after all, had all of England memorized. There was no way they'd ever get lost and he trusted Sherlock, more than even his comrades on the frontlines. No matter how stupid that decision was, he did. As he watched the man next to him lift his head and gaze at everything disinterested and bored, he wouldn't regret it. John smiled and quickened his pace, Sherlock tended to forget not everyone had freakishly long legs like his.

**Author's Note:**

> *Bows* Thank you for reading my first ever Sherlock fic!


End file.
